


An Inconvenient Moment

by alba17



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-19
Updated: 2010-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade makes a badly timed visit to Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inconvenient Moment

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer**: I own nothing, just borrowing the characters for my own amusement.  
> A/N: Many thanks to crazytook for the beta. This scene popped into my head after reading paperclipbitch's [These Things Were Promises](http://paperclipbitch.livejournal.com/128436.html), and thinking that Holmes and Watson would just be going at it like bunnies after that.

It wasn't often that Lestrade was required to visit Baker Street, and in his experience, it was a place best avoided at all costs. One didn't like to inquire too closely into the peculiar customs of Sherlock Holmes in his natural habitat. But on this occasion it proved unavoidable. After repeatedly sending his minions to collect Holmes with no success, he decided to cut to the chase and collect the detective himself on the way to the docks. Perhaps the appearance of a man of authority would prove more persuasive, although to tell the truth, he suspected Holmes had little respect for the line of command. On the other hand, there was a good likelihood that Dr. Watson would be present and being a more accommodating individual and usually a moderating influence on Holmes, he might lend weight to Lestrade's position.

He strode up the stairs of Holmes' Baker Street lair (there was no other word for Holmes' abode, really), after being let in by Mrs. Hudson, who must have the patience of Job to deal with the manifold eccentricities of her unpredictable tenant. Not wanting to unduly alarm the inhabitants, he put a finger to his lips to indicate silence to his sergeant. Honestly, getting Holmes to cooperate with routine police procedures was rather like trapping a wild animal. The things Lestrade put up with in exchange for Holmes' brilliance sometimes verged on the ridiculous.

They crept up to the next storey. His sergeant had yet to meet Holmes, but had naturally heard many a tale about him from his comrades. The young man's face was tense and his eyes skittered nervously about the place as if he were the wild animal. Lestrade felt like rolling his eyes. Holmes was often an invaluable asset to the force, but he did little to discourage his outlandish reputation. On the contrary, he seemed to relish it.

As they approached the door to the flat, they heard a loud crashing, accompanied by some colourful language and groaning. The two police officers looked at each other, and Lestrade put a restraining hand on his sergeant's arm. "Quite normal, I'm afraid," he said in a whisper. "Nothing to be alarmed about," hoping that actually was the case. With Holmes, one never knew.

They stood outside the door, ears keen, assessing the situation. They heard one male voice, low and hesitant, almost a whispered pleading. What the devil? Then another male voice, rough, almost grunting. Lestrade thought the latter was Holmes, and he wasn't sure, but the former was possibly..._Watson?_

The officers exchanged glances yet again, both wearing the same confused frown on their faces. What could they possibly be doing in there?

Then there were some oddly sibilant sounds, a moan and a thump and... what was that? The tearing of fabric? Good lord. Lestrade couldn't possibly imagine what they were doing. Recreating a crime? Testing out some fanciful theory of Holmes'? Some obscure scientific experiment? As long as it didn't involve the dog or a corpse. He was quite sure there were ordinances against that sort of thing.

There was a sudden lonely shout followed by another groan and Lestrade waited another minute, ear glued to the door, hoping for all the world that no one came upon him acting like a young officer wet behind the ears, afraid to knock on a door. This is what Holmes reduced him to.

When finally all he heard was some soft sighing, he decided that was enough and rapped forcefully on the door, shouting for Holmes.

Almost instantaneously, Holmes jerked open the door, but only enough to peer out with wide dark eyes, hair in crazy tufts. His open shirt, the heaving of his chest and his flushed, perspiring face indicated some type of physical exertion had been taking place. Holmes pointed his chin towards Lestrade and looked down his nose imperiously. "Yes?"

Lestrade raised his eyebrows at him expectantly, hands clasped behind his back. "Your presence is expected, Mr. Holmes, down at the docks. We have Poindexter finally within our grasp."

What led his gaze downward at that moment, Lestrade couldn't quite say. But it was then that he noticed that Holmes was holding his trousers closed at the top, his hand bunching the cloth of the trousers and his shirt together haphazardly, as if caught in the act of disrobing or getting dressed. The policeman jerked his eyes away and back up to the detective's face as quickly as possible. Good God, did the man have no sense of decorum? It was the middle of the afternoon, after all. But then, Lestrade already knew that decorum was the one thing Holmes lacked in spades.

Then he noticed a strange reddish-purple mark on the side of Holmes' neck close to his jaw. Being familiar with Holmes' pugilistic tendencies, Lestrade was used to seeing the man with all sorts of bruises and cuts, but that was certainly an unusual type of boxing injury. Be that as it may, his mind declined to investigate the matter further. As long as the man helped them so successfully in their inquiries, Lestrade was happy to ignore his eccentricities.

With a surprising amount of dignity for a man whose trousers were undone, Holmes' gaze strafed Lestrade from head to toe. The policeman preferred not to think about what facts the far too astute detective might be gleaning from such an inspection. He felt his face begin to flush from the combination of Holmes' state of undress and the man's intense scrutiny. He had the definite, unshakeable feeling that Holmes should be the one to be embarrassed, not him. How Holmes managed to turn the tables on him was a mystery. But then, everything about Holmes was a mystery.

"Quite." Holmes bit off the word emphatically, then slammed the door in Lestrade's face.

Lestrade and his sergeant stood there, open-mouthed. Lestrade was just beginning to formulate some thoughts on how to handle the situation, when they heard muffled conversation and some quick footsteps from behind the door.

The door opened again. This time it was Dr. Watson who appeared, slightly more presentable than Holmes. Just. At least his trousers were fastened and his shirt was tucked in. His hair was slightly mussed however, and he was barefoot. Although he bore a polite grin, his face was red as a beet.

"Gentlemen. We'll be just a moment. As you can see, we were...we were... um, well,... performing an experiment on the body's reaction to extreme situations," he said in a rush, as his face flushed even more, which Lestrade didn't think was possible. Watson's eyes were trained on the wall beyond Lestrade, resolutely not meeting the officer's. "If you'd care to descend to Mrs. Hudson's rooms, I'm sure she can provide you with some refreshment while you wait. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience." His grin reasserted itself and inched upward slightly, as if in apology, before he closed the door almost as quickly as Holmes did.

What the bloody hell? Lestrade looked down at his boots, pinching the bridge of his nose and heaved a resigned sigh. He didn't want to know. Really. Some things were best left unexamined. Although he was disappointed to see the respectable doctor being dragged into Holmes' bizarre habits. One had to assume it was all in the name of science.

"Come on," he said, with the air of the long-suffering, indicating the stairs to his sergeant.

Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson brewed a delightful Earl Grey.


End file.
